


Betsy in the Doldrums

by shirogiku



Category: Black Sails
Genre: 3x03, Angst and Humor, Cats, Cats Always Win, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Related, Episode: s03e03 XXI., Gen, Season/Series 03, The Doldrums, XXI.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 12:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7758067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirogiku/pseuds/shirogiku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Billy and Silver save the cat. Flint always has a story to tell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Betsy in the Doldrums

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DreamingPagan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingPagan/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Бетси в штиль](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10644321) by [Lazurit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lazurit/pseuds/Lazurit)



> I have no idea where Betsy has gone canonically, but the worst case scenario is not an option, so :)
> 
> Now comes with a [lovely art](http://krimsnkramsart.tumblr.com/post/153441275792/silver-betsy-the-cat-something-i-ve-wanted-to) by krimsnkrams! <3

                                                                                           “ _Pets are always a great help in times of stress. And in times of starvation too, o'course_.”

                                                                                           — Terry Pratchett, _Small Gods_

 

 _There’s very good eating in a cat_ , was not _the_ most disgusting thought that Silver had ever had, and looking at the haggard crewmen’s faces -  for once, he didn't care to pin names to them - he could pretend that it hadn’t been his in the first place. But he wasn't feeling too proud of himself as he made to bend down and was rewarded for his trouble with a lash from Taskmaster Bad Leg.

 

Oblivious to his condition, Betsy raced up his other leg and landed in his arms, a warm, tense ball of white fur; the large tabby patch extending from along her spine made her look like she was wearing a tattered cloak with a hood. It had lost none of its softness or lustre, which should have raised at least _one_ alarm.

 

“ _Nobody_ eats Betsy,” he declared, with a finality to his tone. “Randall. Do you lot remember Randall? He hadn’t given up his goddamn leg for our ship’s cat so we could insult his memory by eating her _now_.” The smallest measure of reason bled back into their eyes, but it still wasn’t enough to break up the hunting party. “Do we _need_ any more bad luck?”

 

As to that, the opinions were divided, which allowed him to return to the galley unimpeded, and muttering to himself, _Nobody eats you, girl._

 

His most rational part amended: _Except possibly me._

 

He sat down heavily with Betsy on his lap, stroking her back absent-mindedly. It was a way to keep his hand busy. “I thought you’d jumped ship ages ago, you silly thing,” he told her in reproach. “If a cat doesn’t know when to cut and run, then what hope do we have?”

 

Apparently, she had got wiser about her lurking instead.

 

“It’s not just her meat and blood,” came Billy’s voice. “Randall had trained her to bring the best spoils to him.”

 

“Ah. And now, she is stealing from the thieves.” He and Betsy should be friends, then. Hell, he had as good as inherited her. “Mr. Gates had trained the Captain, Randall had trained Betsy… are _you_ training me to train them all over again?”

 

Conducive to coherence, the doldrums were not.

 

Billy stared at him blankly. “You have to sleep sometimes, Silver.”

 

Lately, it hadn’t felt like he could sleep at all. “Are you implying what I think you are implying? That I am raving?”

 

Billy bent down, making sure that Silver saw him. “There is only one place aboard this ship where nobody would dare go after her.” Shit, he should have thought of that himself. “And besides... cats can see ghosts.”

 

At times when Billy spoke like this, with such an unrelenting confidence, Silver could never decide whether to be sorry or glad to count him among the living.

 

* * *

 

“Yes, yes, my days of sneaking up on you are behind me.” Silver dropped the cat on Flint’s chest unceremoniously. “But I can still smuggle things in.” Someone here had been too focused on the metal boot.

 

Flint stared at Betsy like he had never seen a cat before in his life. “What is the meaning of this?”

 

“Captain, Betsy.  Betsy, Captain. She doesn’t bite or scratch.”

 

He waited to see if she would.

 

The captain and the cat stared at each other unblinkingly, in a near-identical fashion. “ _What_ is she doing on top of me, Silver?”

 

“Oh, I do apologise, would you rather have me cook her first and then bring her back here in a pot?”

 

“Wouldn’t be your worst culinary masterpiece,” Flint muttered. His hand rose to give her an awkward pat, as if out of its own volition.

 

Betsy purred, and therefore won.

 

“Well, well.” The feared Captain’s soft side was still kicking, after all.

 

Flint lacked the energy needed for a glare, but his cold look was none the less cutting for it. Silver stomped out the urge to leave, pulling up a chair for himself instead.

 

Just as the noise that it made scraping against the floor died down, Flint asked, “Did Billy ever tell you where Randall got her?”

 

Silver frowned. “No, and I have assumed that she has always been there.”

 

The Captain clearly wasn’t any wiser as to where she had come from. “She can stay,” he said, anticipating Silver’s question. “For now. But the moment there are no more eels...”

 

“We’ll fish out something else.”

 

They sat in silence, punctuated only by Betsy’s low, contented purrs. Flint let out what sounded suspiciously like a sigh. Silver was pretty sure that he had _never_ heard Flint sigh before, not like that.

 

“There used to be a cat aboard my last royal commission,” he said, startling Silver. “Nobody ever saw her, so they called her a ghost. But one could lure her out with her favourite cream. She was very particular about her cream.”

 

“What was a sophisticated creature like that doing aboard a _Navy_ ship?”

 

“Hmm, she never did tell me.”

 

As it turned out, Flint knew more than one ship’s cat story, most of them morbid in one way or another. Such as, the whole crew dead, and the cat grooming itself as if nothing when the ship was finally found. It filled the space between and around them like a grim prophecy.

 

“There used to be a cat in the orphanage,” Silver echoed. “Mean, scarred, missing bits and pieces here and there. His name was Bandit.”

 

Flint snorted. “Let me guess - you made friends with him and trained him to attack your enemies?”

 

“Not really, no. His favourite hobby was sneaking up on me and scratching at the soles of my bare feet. It’s a wonder that the scars have managed to fade. Do you want to know how I taught him out of it?”

 

Flint just kept watching him.

 

“By smearing mud over my skin. He didn’t like mud a bit. But then it was all over my bed and that opened up a whole world sort of trouble…”

 

“There used to be a dog, I forget the breed.” Flint paused. “A _portrait_ of a dog in a house where… Miranda used to live.” Betsy’s ears pricked up like she could hear the ghostly rustling of Mrs. Barlow’s skirts. “I thought it was either because of the fad or a beloved old pet, so I never asked. And it was just a present. They had always dreamt of having their own dog but never stayed in the country long enough.”

 

“You can keep a dog in the city, too.”

 

Flint opened his mouth and then closed it again, perhaps having forgotten the past counterargument.

 

The question was on the tip of Silver’s tongue, but he didn’t ask it. Mrs. Barlow’s mystery husband remained behind the scenes, his shadowy influence extending much farther than Silver could have imagined a few months ago. If there was ever any chance of getting to the bottom of Flint, perhaps that answer was what he would find there.

 

He hazarded a guess: “He wouldn't want you to kill a defenceless animal.” And now it _was_ time to make his exit: “I should be getting back to my eels. With your blessing, Cap'n.”

 

Flint’s eyes burnt holes into his back.

 

“How did it go?” Billy asked, noting that Silver had returned empty-handed.

 

“I think…” He remembered the look on Flint’s face. “Betsy may survive our doldrums yet.”


End file.
